


My Regrets, Your Mistakes

by GothamNights



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Ed wants to destroy Oswald, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Love Confessions, Love/Hate, M/M, Oswald loves Ed anyway, Unrequited Love, apologies in advance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-08
Updated: 2017-10-08
Packaged: 2019-01-10 20:07:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12306777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GothamNights/pseuds/GothamNights
Summary: Oswald Cobblepot has lived a thousand lives, none more painful than the brief one at Edward Nygma's side.Flashes through Season Three, skims over a lot, TBH is just some angsty writing. I suck at summaries but please read if Nygmobblepot broke your heart.





	My Regrets, Your Mistakes

My Regrets, Your Mistakes

Oswald has lived a thousand lives on his way to becoming King of Gotham. He has been subservient, a snitch, a pawn, a consort, a tool, a liar, a manipulator, an aggressor, a weakling and finally a King. But none of those titles are as painful as friend, lover or ally. And none of them could of prepared him for that look in Ed’s eyes, angry, hateful handprints encircling his elegant neck like a choker, or the words that come next. 

‘I would do anything for you.’ At that Oswald’s entire world stops and flat-lines, crashing out of orbit and imploding, the ambitious King silenced by words from a lowly citizen. But Ed is so much more than that, from the riddle the moment they met, from his Chesire cat grin when watching Oswald kill, repairing the damaged man not once nor twice but more times than Oswald can ever be ungrateful for. Without him… Oswald would be lost. 

Now is the perfect opportunity, with the fire burning low and throaty, casting soft seductive glares over Ed’s full lips and sharp cheekbones and Oswald can’t tear his eyes away from Ed, his Ed, resplendent and alive, even after the tragedy that almost befell him. He almost kisses him, comes so close he can feel slightly quickened breath, but in that perfect moment Oswald breaks it, panic settling heavily over him so he darts to the side, passing off their closeness by clutching Ed to him instead, his slender hands caressing Ed’s back, cursing himself for his social ineptitude. 

By the time he gathers his courage again it merely takes Ed studying him for his nerve to fail and he flusters, making a lame excuse which sounds fake even to his own ears. Ed smiles sadly, a flicker of emotion, a disappointed gaze so brief that Oswald thinks he may have imagined it to begin with. It takes a classroom full of babbling, mildly irritating children for Oswald to finally loosen his lips and speak, asking Ed if he would be amicable to dinner at the mansion for eight o’clock. Ed agrees and ever the sommelier, states he will pick up a nice bottle of wine to which Oswald has no doubts that he will, Ed’s excellent tastes demonstrated before at many ample opportunities. 

When eight rolls around, Oswald is so tense he flinches at every sound, each movement Olga makes is too loud and his voice shakes with each word as he practices his grand statements of love. They sound empty to his ears and he regrets that he is not more articulate like Ed, wishes he was never at a loss for words, wishes he possesses the seduction of Fish, the charisma of Falcone, hell even the carefree nature of Maroni would be welcome in his current predicament. So he falls silent, gazing at the empty chair, each tick the clock makes deafeningly loud, the sound echoing around the room as his heart trembles in his chest. 

At quarter past eight, Oswald begins to panic, the lateness so unlike the always punctual Ed. Oswald fears images of Ed lying dead in a gutter, his guts strewn over Gotham’s paved streets, or hacked apart by some pyscho, throat slit ear to ear or… He forces his brain to still and be quiet but it is a futile endeavour, his heart is in his throat as he stands and limps over to the phone, fingers itching to dial the number. He rushes forward and bangs Ed’s number into the keypad from obsessive memory, hands shaking as each ring runs through, his silent plea into the darkness left unanswered.  
Oswald loses all capability for rational and logical thought from the minute he wakes up, searches the house for any small sign Ed came in last night and upon finding none, he grabs the phone, dialling the emergency number with a fervour that he has not experienced since fighting Fish for the title of Gotham’s ruler. He argues passionately with the person on the other end of the line, abusing his positions as criminal kingpin and mayor to goad them into action before he is silenced by a voice. 

The phone drops from his hands as he limps forward, crashing into Ed with the force of a hurricane, clutching him as close and tight as he dares, crushing the man he loves to him, hiding the tears of relief that are threatening to assault him and betray his feelings. He looks at Ed and finds him smiling fondly down at him, his own limbs wrapped around Oswald and although it may be Oswald’s enamoured brain reading into things too closely, it almost feels as if Ed is reciprocating his feelings. 

He has hope, it is small and fragile, a tiny bird that flits hopefully around his palm, but it is quickly suffocated with Ed’s next words.

‘I’ve met someone.’ Ed smiles the same smile Oswald so naively believed was reserved for him and he feels his heart be crushed, a heavy ringing in his ears as Ed’s next words nearly make him scream in ruinous fury. 

‘I think I’m in love!’ Oswald can’t help his expression of pure distaste and misery. He has been replaced so easily in Ed’s eyes, Ed has been stolen from him by some man-eating harpy. Mother was right. Women were cruel beings, easily twisting a man’s fascination and demanding his attention at all times. 

Oswald knows he should feel happy for Ed, should respect him and be content with Ed’s friendship and loyalty, but Oswald has always hungered for more, hungered for what he cannot have, no matter the cost. He says the damning words the same way a normal man may say hello, disregarding the absolute agony this will cause Ed. 

Oswald reasons that it is all that hateful woman’s fault, he tried to convince her to leave Ed alone and she, stubborn to a fault, refused. Ed would recover, would have Oswald for support and care and guidance and when the time was right, would come to love Oswald back as passionately at Oswald loves Ed. 

Ed clings to him after he sees the mangled corpse, shudders against him and Oswald comforts him, smiling gleefully over his friend’s shoulder. There is no one between him and Ed anymore, they can be together, rule both city hall and Gotham, unchallenged by criminals and the GCPD alike. 

But Oswald underestimates Ed, his determination, his resilience, his obsession to find Isabella’s killer. He breathes a sigh of too early relief when Ed assumes Butch and Tabitha, finds glee in the maniac way Ed tortures and torments them, up until Butch says the wrong thing, casting Ed loose into a world of uncertainties. And all the while Ms Kean pours poisonous seeds of doubt into Ed’s mind, planting falsehoods and half truths about Oswald until Ed turns on the man he trusted and called friend.  
They are at the docks, cold handcuffs preventing Oswald from touching Ed, tears streaming down his face as he gazes down the barrel of a gun. He survived Ed’s first attempt at death by a stroke of luck, but like the love-struck fool he is, he couldn’t stay away from Ed, a weakness which seals his fate. The bullet tears through flesh and muscle, his hands holding the wound as disbelief carves his face, his tears evident as Ed’s words torment him even as the man pulls him closer by a fistful of expensive clothes. I don’t love you. And Oswald can’t regret not telling Ed he loved him sooner. 

When they meet again, ensconced in bird cages in the Court of Owls, Oswald feels nothing but blind rage and fury, hating the man for killing him, for wanting to destroy him. He tries to grab him, taunts and teases Ed’s weaknesses, laughs cruelly at the beating he receives, satisfied he is the cause of it. But the truce shocks him, reignites that brief glimmer of hope that Ed could love him back. 

Oswald had forgotten how beautiful Ed looked splattered in crimson, eyes sparkling beneath his glasses, a breathless smile twisting his lips as he extends an arm and drops the knife, true to his word. Oswald wants to turn back and run to him the minute Ed begins to walk away, but he can’t show weakness, Ed doesn’t love him, the truce means nothing. 

He plots Ed’s downfall like a madman, leaving some variables to chance, revels in tearing the rug out from underneath Ed, the hopeless expression of a man defeated. Those brown eyes brim with irritation and if Oswald is not mistaken, a hint of admiration for outsmarting the Riddler, for outsmarting him. 

When Victor freezes him, Ed reaches for Oswald, the gesture violently meant but the thought of Ed needing to touch him, even to kill him, fills Oswald with bliss. He keeps his love on display, cages him so he will never be able to leave him, so that Ed becomes a silent and unwilling confidant for Oswald’s late night admissions of love. 

It is a night that has happened a thousand times before, Oswald’s hands mirroring Ed’s, resting a palm against the ice as though Ed might sense his presence. The words are always the same, words Oswald uses as a mantra to keep him from making a rash decision to unfreeze Ed, knowing his heart could not take that rejection again. 

“I regret not telling you I loved you when I had the chance, but your mistakes led us here.’

**Author's Note:**

> I'm actually kinda proud of this tbh. I like the sort of plot and the third person narrative actually helped with my overall story arc, I prefer first person usually as I think it conveys more emotion but this worked too. Please comment and kudos if you enjoyed  
> Love GothamNights xxx


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